Growing Up
by Appello
Summary: Growing up is never easy. For Mary, Dickon and Colin, it will be the hardest thing they've ever done. And maybe this time, not even the garden will be enough to save them. My take on the future of these characters, as they learn to live, laugh and love all over again. Set during World War One. D/M, eventual Colin/OC.
1. one

**A/N: Muses are strange things. You might desperately want to complete your current work-in-progress, but instead find that the only thing you can write about is something completely unrelated. Like the Secret Garden, for instance, when you really should be writing Harry Potter.**

**In any case, I have had this story sitting on my laptop for a while now. I decided not to ignore it any longer. So I'm going to start posting it. I don't know how many chapters there are in total, haven't counted them, but it's a long story, and I hope at least one person out there enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**Housekeeping matters: This story will be divided year by year, as the children grow up. The timeframe of the novel was never 100% confirmed, so I've decided to do my own thing in this regard. So, presuming Colin and Mary were born in 1900, and Dickon in 1898, that makes C and M 12 when my story begins, and D 14. I've taken some minor liberties with other characters' ages throughout as well. Don't like it? Don't read it. :)**

**On that note, I hope you do read it. And I hope you enjoy it :)**

**Disclaimer: The genius of the Secret Garden belongs to Frances Hodgson Burnett alone. I, sadly, make no profit from this work. **

* * *

_1912._

Colin Craven felt like he was walking through quicksand. No matter how quickly he moved his legs or pumped his arms, his two companions only seemed to grow farther and farther away from him.

"Wait for me!" he called out loudly, not a request but an order. "Dickon… Mary… _wait_!"

They had been talking, but at the sound of his voice they turned around. Mary's cheeks were flushed from exercise and her honey-blonde hair was whipped to one side by the wind. She looked nothing at all like the sour little wench she had been when she first arrived at Misselthwaite. When her eyes came to rest on him Colin felt his heart clench and his stomach tie itself in familiar knots.

"Come on Colin," she laughed, waving at him encouragingly. "Dickon's going to show us the wild ponies!"

Colin shot a quick glance at the other boy. Dickon stood beside Mary, an easy smile on his face, his whole body radiating pleasure and ease. He didn't seem in the least bit tired from their long trek across the moor. Colin's eyes narrowed slightly and he straightened.

"We can see ponies every day in the stables," he said, trying not to show that he was still out of breath. He had nearly caught up with them now. "My father has dozens of ponies."

"Yes, but not wild ones," said Mary. She reached out and took Dickon's hand in her own. Colin's eyes darted to their entwined fingers.

"Mary…" he began, though he had not the slightest clue what he wanted to say. But she cut him off.

"Hurry up Colin," she said, turning and pulling Dickon along with her. "I don't want to miss them. Do let's come on."

And, because he could not refuse Mary anything, Colin swallowed his fatigue and the pain in his legs and hurried after them.

* * *

**Reviews make the sun peep out on this dreary winter's morning. Happy Australia day everyone.**


	2. two

**A/N: Yay to Kelli, my first reviewer! May you be the start of many, I hope :D **

* * *

_1912._

The first time his father suggested boarding school, Colin had thrown a fit. He very rarely lost his temper these days, having left that aspect of his personality behind him with his wheelchair. But the thought of being sent to London and away from Misselthwaite, away from _her, _terrified him so much that he truly did collapse into a rage.

"Calm yourself son," his father urged, a flash of something in his eyes – fear perhaps, that the cripple was coming back in place of this new, healthy Colin of the last few years. "_Please_."

"What about Mary?" he demanded, scrunching his fists and his nose and trying to look as obstinate and contrary as possible. "Why does she not have to go to London?"

His father sighed. "She is to have a governess. That will be sufficient until she reaches sixteen. _You_ require further education. This is the best boarding school for boys in all of England. You will – "

"I won't go!" he shouted, stamping his foot. "You can't make me!"

"Colin, please – "

"NO!" he began to shake, feeling the tremors shuddering through his body. The thought of leaving, of going away while Mary and Dickon stayed together in the garden… Mary and Dickon… he groaned loudly, a guttural, miserable sort of sound that soon transformed into a hacking cough.

"Alright!" his father said quickly, raising his hands, a tortured expression on his face. "Alright son. You don't have to go to boarding school just yet. Perhaps when you're fourteen…"

The shuddering stopped, and Colin took a deep breath. He felt as though he had just taken a small step away from the abyss. Fourteen was almost two years away, long enough for his father to forget all about boarding school. And besides, he would never go without Mary. Never.

* * *

When he told them about it later, their reactions were not what he expected. Mary frowned and Dickon merely seemed bemused at Colin's vehement refusal to consider studying in London.

"Does tha' not want a good education?" he asked in his soft, quiet way.

"Of course I do," he spluttered, disconcerted at their responses, Mary's in particular. He had thought she would be happy to learn that he was staying, but instead she was simply watching him with her brows furrowed. "I just don't see the need to go to London right _now._"

"I heard you all the way from my room," she said bluntly. "You threw a right fit about it. Just like the old days."

He flushed. "Yes, well, I didn't want to go. The thought of it upset me."

"You threw that fit because you knew Uncle Archie would give in if you did," she said, giving him a hard look. "You shouldn't do that, Colin."

He hated that she sounded disappointed in him. Hated that she wasn't pleased he was staying. "I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped, glaring at her. "Honestly Mary, must you always talk such rubbish?"

Dickon lifted his pipe and began to play, effectively cutting off the argument between them. Mary closed her eyes at once and soon began to sway to the music. A small smile played at the edge of her mouth. Colin stared at her, transfixed, and realised that it didn't matter if she was angry with him, as long as he was _here, _with her. That was all that mattered. And if he had to throw a fit to get it, then so be it.


	3. three

_1913._

Mary sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and cast yet another longing glance out of the window. It was a brilliant summer's day, the sun shining bright, the moor covered in blooming heather. Colin followed her gaze and saw that Dickon was once again riding past on his pony, his pace slow and leisurely, his face turned not to the window but cast skyward, as though to indicate what a glorious day it was. Mary sighed again.

"Concentrate, Miss Lennox," intoned their governess.

"I do so wish to be outside," complained Mary under her breath. "Dickon is so lucky."

"Dickon should be at work," Colin snapped back without thinking. "He should be in the gardens, not gallivanting about on that pony of his." He instantly regretted his words when Mary shot him a withering glare.

"He's probably taking a break," she hissed at him. "Dickon works harder than any other boy in Yorkshire. Much harder than you or I."

He opened his mouth to object but their governess cut him off. "The French, Mr Craven, Miss Lennox."

"_Je suis désolée, Madam_," answered Mary in her politest voice.

"That's quite alright."

"When I have finished these translations, may I be allowed outside?" she asked sweetly. "It is such a glorious day. _S'il vous plaît._"

Their governess gave her a wry smile. "I suppose that would be agreeable."

"And me?" asked Colin eagerly, but the governess shook her head.

"No Colin, I'm sorry but you are required to study your mathematics after this lesson."

He looked at Mary to see her grinning wickedly at him. "That's not fair!" he complained.

"Life is rarely fair," said their governess serenely. "Be thankful you shall know all about the world of mathematics, while Miss Lennox will not."

But ten minutes later, as he watched Mary hurriedly scribbling the last of the translation answers before diving out of her seat and shooting him a quick goodbye, he thought that this was absolutely nothing to be thankful for at all.

* * *

It was a lazy summer Sunday, and the three of them were resting in the shade of their favourite oak tree, all dressed in their finest having just come from Mass. Dickon had taken out his pipe and was playing a merry tune, while Mary read a book beside him, and Colin watched her surreptitiously while pretending to do the same.

None of them noticed Mr Pitcher approaching until the small animals that had gathered closer to hear Dickon's playing suddenly up and scurried away. Colin looked up questioningly at the old man as Dickon trailed into silence.

"What is it?"

"Your father wishes to inform you that he is to make a short visit to Leeds, and he asks that you accompany him. Miss Mary too, if she so pleases."

"Oh, good," said Colin, sitting up and closing his book. He always enjoyed riding to town with his father. People there seemed neat and respectful, the architecture was pleasing, and there were always many new things to do and see. It was a relief from the endless, never changing moors. "Let's go, Mary." He stood up and offered her his hand.

She shot him a sheepish look. "I think I'll stay here, actually," she said. "Dickon promised he'd teach me how to dance a jig."

Dickon grinned, as though he had forgotten such a promise. "Aye, that I did."

Colin instantly felt his mood sour. "Well I won't go either then," he said.

"Begging your pardon, Master Colin," interjected old Pitcher. "But your father specifically requested your presence."

Colin felt his mouth tighten into a frown. "And did he specifically request Mary's presence too?"

"That he did not. He said she was free to come if she wished."

Mary laughed and tossed her hair over one shoulder. "Go on, Col," she said with a smile that made him want to throw himself at her feet and beg her never to leave him. "We'll still be here when you come back."

Her casual use of the word 'we' made his eye twitch. He looked at Dickon, who was still grinning faintly, and felt a sudden urge to order the other boy to leave. But he couldn't, not with Mary looking at him as she was. So he simply nodded stiffly and turned to go.

He looked back when he reached the Manor. Mary had got to her feet and was dancing clumsily to Dickon's pipe, her thick skirts getting in the way of the proper kicking action. As he watched, she tripped and stumbled slightly, and Dickon reached out, his hand going to her waist to steady her. It was only for a moment, before she stepped back and away, but in that instant Colin felt a blind rage pulse within him. He took a breath and forced his fists to unclench; his whole body felt tight and uncomfortable. With one last longing look at the pair of them, he turned to go and meet his father.

* * *

"Careful, Miss Mary," Dickon said pleasantly, lowering the pipe to regard her as she tripped on her skirts once again. "Tha'll tear thy lace if tha's not careful."

"I don't care," she said obstinately, continuing to swirl even though the pretty music had stopped. "I hate these stupid dresses. I'd much rather wear trousers like a boy."

Dickon laughed. "An' wha' a sight tha' would be, indeed."

"Teach me the steps," she implored him, beckoning him to stand. "_Please, _Dickon."

"I canna teach thee an' play at th' same time."

"Then just teach me. You can play afterwards, once I've learned them."

He smiled and stood up, looking somewhat hesitant. "'Tis no' a proper dance for a lady."

"Never mind that," she said, taking his hands in her own. "Now teach me."

He grinned at her bossiness, as he always had. "Alrigh' then. S'easy, really. Jus' put thy righ' foot forward. Tha's it." He placed his hands loosely on her waist. "An' bring thy left one behind, right quick, like this." He indicated, moving quickly on his feet, his balance perfect. Mary did the same and overbalanced. She clutched at his shirtfront to stay upright, and he tightened his grip on her waist.

"Then tha' jus' lifts thy front leg an' taps thy knee, like this." She watched, transfixed, as he did a strange little hop, so that the toes of his right foot tapped against his left knee.

"I'll never be able to do that," she whined after she had tried twice with no success to imitate his movements. Her foot kept getting caught in her skirts, and she felt clumsy and ridiculous. But there was no mocking or scorn in Dickon's stare. He simply smiled at her as he always did.

"Tha'll learn, if tha' wants to," he said. "It jus' takes practice, is all."

"Well, I'm going to practise every day until I can do it perfectly," she said in a determined voice.

He nodded. "I've no doubt."

"And you'll keep teaching me, won't you?" she asked, looking up at him with wide, earnest eyes.

"'Course."

"Good," she danced out of his reach, for she suddenly felt hot and flustered standing so close to him. "Well, get thee playin' once more, Master Sowerby. I dinna remember tellin' thee tha' could stop."

He grinned at her broad Yorkshire, and lifted his pipe once more. "At thy service, Miss Mary."

"Just _Mary_, Dickon," she said in a tone of frustration. "How many times have I told you that?"

His grin only widened at her scolding. "Aye, tha's righ'. Sorry, Mary."

"That's better. Now, one more song, and then let's go to the garden."

* * *

Colin sat in the dappled shade underneath the oak tree, playing idly with a strand of grass. Several feet away both Mary and Dickon were toiling in the garden, as they had been all morning, clearing room in the earth for the new spring shoots coming out of the earth. Colin watched them surreptitiously under his lashes, and the longer he looked the heavier the stone in his stomach grew to be. They moved around each other so easily, so naturally, that it was all but impossible to imagine one without the other. Their affection was subtle. It was in the small gestures, their intimate whispers barely noticeable to someone who wasn't paying attention – it was the way Dickon's eyes lingered just a little too long on Mary as she worked, the excuses he made to touch her, and the pretty blush that coloured her cheeks when he did. It was enough to make Colin feel sick.

At the moment they were kneeling side by side in the dirt, and Dickon was talking in a low voice about something or other, his hands moving as he gestured back and forth between the different plants. Mary watched him, enraptured, and after a moment she burst into peals of laughter at something he'd said. Her hand reached out to touch Dickon's arm, and he grinned stupidly back at her. Colin felt the stone within him transform to a writhing, biting snake.

"Don't you ever get sick of it?" he asked loudly. They stopped laughing and turned to stare at him, their expressions confused. "The gardening," he explained. "Don't you ever get sick of it?"

Mary's eyes widened as though he had said something blasphemous. "Sick of the garden?" she whispered, appalled.

"Not the _garden," _Colin clarified. "Garden_ing. _Always poking about in the dirt, like… like…" he trailed off.

Dickon removed his cap and ruffled his hair. "Eh, th' gardenin' _is _th' garden, Colin," he said good-naturedly. "Canna have one without th' other."

"Besides," said Mary rather crossly. "I love it. There's nothing I'd rather do than spend time in the garden with you and Dickon."

Colin shrugged, somewhat mollified that it had been he that came first in her speech. The two of them returned to their work, but it wasn't long before Dickon leaned close to Mary again, saying something under his breath to make her laugh.

"Stop whispering!" Colin snapped, sitting up and glaring at Dickon. The boy had no right to lean so close to Mary, really. "It's rude."

But Mary just laughed at his scowl. "Come over here then," she said lightly. "And do some work. You'd be able to hear then, instead of sitting there and sulking."

"I am _not _sulking," he half-shouted, which only caused Mary and Dickon to laugh harder. Colin glared off to the side, his jaw clenched tight. He didn't think he'd felt more isolated from them since the days he sat alone in his bed while they went out and played together. He was right next to them now and yet…they couldn't have been further away from him.


	4. four

_1914._

By the time of his fourteenth birthday, Colin had all but forgotten his father's threats of boarding school. So it came as an awful shock when Archibald Craven called him into his study one afternoon and announced that he would be leaving for London in one month's time.

The room seemed to shrink in upon him as he listened to his father speak in a steady, persuasive voice about the benefits of this particular school and what it would bring him. When he was finished and the heavy silence descended upon them, all Colin could do was shake his head. "I – I shan't," he said, his own voice thin and weedy as it had been in years past. "I shan't go."

But his father had a very determined set to his jaw, and deep down Colin knew it was no use. "You're to go, son," he said firmly. "I've neglected your education for far too long as it is. One day you'll inherit all this – " he swept his arm around the room, to the desk cluttered with sheets of paper, graphs and tables and other information relating to the estate. "And you must be prepared for it. I won't have Misselthwaite mismanaged due to my own softness."

"What about Mary?" he asked desperately, feeling certain at that point that he would never be prepared to manage anything. "She must come too!"

His father sighed. "Mary will go when she is sixteen, at a time when she is ready to be presented to society. There is little purpose in sending her any earlier. She is too early to marry and her current governess is doing a fine job as far as I can tell."

Colin barely heard the last part of his father's speech. His mind seemed stuck on one word. "Marry?" he repeated blankly.

His father coughed. "Well, yes, at some stage in the future we will have to begin the courting process for Mary. As her guardian it is my responsibility to find her a suitable husband."

"But that's preposterous," he said confidently. "Mary's to marry me, of course."

His father stared at him for a long time, and Colin began to sweat under his gaze. But in the end all he said was, "You will leave Misselthwaite in a month."

"But – "

"Medlock and Pitcher are making all the arrangements. Make sure you do as they ask of you."

Colin wanted to argue, wanted to throw a fit and demand to get his own way. But he remembered Mary's disappointment in him when he had done that the last time, and swallowed his complaints. Instead he muttered an obedient "Yes, sir," before turning and fleeing from the room.

He went immediately to the garden, knowing that if Mary was to be found anywhere, it would be there. And sure enough, he saw her as soon as he entered, seated on one of the old stone benches with her skirts tucked around her, the sunshine glinting on her hair and turning it golden. He opened his mouth to call out, then choked back his words when he realised she was not alone.

Dickon sat beside her, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped in a stance so uncharacteristic that it took Colin a moment to believe it was really him. Mary had her arm around his shoulders, and was rubbing his back in a slow, soothing pattern. Her other hand was entwined with Dickon's, their fingers laced together. Her head was bent to rest on his shoulder, her mouth only inches from his jaw, and her eyes were closed.

Colin felt something within him squeeze and tighten as he took in the scene before him. He took a step backwards, knowing he wasn't wanted here, that he was intruding upon something he could never hope to be a part of. But at the movement Dickon stiffened and his head jerked up, fixing on Colin with a wide, surprised stare. His normally laughing eyes were bright with pain, and there was a moistness to them that made Colin want to avert his gaze.

He opened his mouth to say something – what, he didn't know – but Mary had caught sight of him by now and beat him to it.

"Colin!" she called out, her voice not angry but holding a definite note of irritation. "What are you doing here?" She hadn't broken the contact between herself and Dickon, obviously quite unabashed to be seen holding him.

"I…" he took a deep breath and stepped closer. "I came to tell you…" she had been crying too, he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. "I am to leave for London in a month. For – for boarding school."

Mary's gaze softened, and she looked a little abashed. "Oh," she said quietly, shifting a little on the seat to make room for him. "Well, come and sit down. We've just had some terrible news."

Colin took a few more steps closer but made no move to sit. Instead he looked at Dickon. "What is it?"

The older boy took a deep breath and made a valiant attempt to square his shoulders. "S'ma brother, John," he said hoarsely. "'E took ill a few days ago, with th' influenza. An'…well, it took 'im away in th' night, poor lad. Tha's the second for us, after little 'Beth las' month. Me poor Ma, I don' know 'ow much more she can take, what wi' Pa catchin' cold as well."

"I'll come over tomorrow," Mary said in a low, soothing voice. "Bring some chicken soup from the kitchens, and some more blankets. And some medicine, for your father."

Dickon shook his head. "Tha' munna', Mary. S'no' safe righ' now, wi' th' influenza around."

"I don't care about that," she said, but Dickon shook his head again, his jaw set firm.

"I won' have thee puttin' thysel' at risk. No' for me."

Mary opened her mouth to argue, but Colin cut her off.

"Dickon's right, Mary. It's too much of a risk. I'll have a servant take the supplies first thing tomorrow.'

She looked up at him, eyes flashing. "And what does that mean, exactly? That my life is worth more than Martha's? Than Dickon's?"

"That – that's not what I meant."

"Then what did tha' mean, Colin Craven?" she had sprung to her feet, and for all that she was a good head smaller than him he suddenly felt as tiny as a bug beneath her glare. "Th' Sowerby's are as good as family an' this is how tha' wants t' treat them?"

"I – I – "

"Don' be vexed, Mary," said Dickon, in that quiet, gentle way of his, and Mary instantly softened, becoming once again a small, pretty girl of fourteen. Colin watched the transformation with a combination of awe and bitterness, hating that Dickon had the ability to calm her so easily when he was at a complete loss as to how to make it better. "Colin's righ'. Wouldna be proper."

"A pox on proper," she answered, sounding more sad than angry. "If it's so unsafe then you shouldn't be going back at all."

Dickon smiled wryly. "Eh, don' worry bou' me. I'll be safe as houses. 'Sides, me Ma an' Pa need me righ' now. Th' little ones, too."

Colin watched as they continued to talk in soft, conciliatory voices, Mary sinking gracefully back to Dickon's side and her hand returning to his. He stood there awkwardly, his announcement all but forgotten, and felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat. Mary didn't even glance his way; she had eyes only for Dickon.

After a while the older boy looked at the sky and sighed. "Best be gettin' back now," he said. "Ma'll be needin' help, an' there's th' funeral t' arrange." His face tightened and he got to his feet.

Mary rose too, dropping his hand. "Be safe," she whispered, sniffling a little. Colin reached out a hand to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder, and she gave him a small, strained smile.

"Take all the time you need," he said to Dickon. "I'll explain to my father, if you like. And I'll have some supplies sent straight away."

Dickon looked at him solemnly. "Thank 'ee, Colin," he said. "Tha's a true friend." Then he tipped his cap and left them, a heaviness to his shoulders as though the weight of the world rested upon them.

Colin stood beside Mary in silence for a while, letting it stretch because he didn't know what else to do, before he finally nudged her. She jumped at the contact, and blinked rapidly as though she had forgotten he was even there.

"Come on," he said softly, taking her hand in his own. "Let's get you inside."

"Oh Colin," she mumbled, her face crumpling as she strove to hold back her tears. She squeezed his hand, and he felt the contact in every corner of his body. "You're such a good friend. Whatever shall I do when you are gone?"

_You'll have Dickon,_ he thought bitterly. But he held his tongue, not wanting to ruin this moment, to bring the other boy back into the picture when he had only just left it. So instead he simply smiled and said, "It's only for a little while. Not long at all. Then we shall be together again." _Forever, _he added to himself. But he didn't say that either.

* * *

She was on her way to the garden when she overheard the news. Two of the serving maids were hovering in the corridor just around the corner, their voices low but crystal clear as Mary stopped to listen.

"Heard it this morning. All th' soldiers are bein' called t' fight – "

"Awful business, isn' it? I never thought it'd come t' this – "

"Me brother joined up las' year. Don' know wha's goin' t' happen t' him now." The girl made a sound as though choking back a sob.

"S'alright love," said the other in a comforting voice. "Th' war's bound t' be over soon. Why, they're sayin' it'll on'y be a month an' it'll all be finished, an' Chris'mas at th' latest. More 'n likely they won' even call 'im up – won' be a need for 'im, I spect."

"Still… "

At that moment there was a clatter of heels, and a second later Medlock's voice rang out sharply. "Enough of that, you two! Back to work right this instant, and if I see you dawdling about again I'll cancel your month's leave, so help me I will. All this talk of war, I won't stand for it! Now shoo!"

The maids murmured their apologies, and Mary quickly ducked into a room to avoid being spotted as they scurried away. Her heart was thudding against her ribcage and her skin felt clammy and cold despite the warm day outside. War? She had heard rumours about the things happening in Europe, snatches she'd overheard from the servants or coaxed out of her governess. But she had never actually thought…somehow Yorkshire simply seemed too remote, too beautiful to be touched by such a thing as awful as war.

Once she was sure she was alone again, Mary slipped out of her shelter and hurried off to the gardens, now more desperate than ever to see Dickon. She wasn't sure why – she doubted he knew any more of war than she did – but she knew that just being in his presence would be a comfort to her.

He wasn't in the secret garden. Instead she found him in the apple orchard, tending to the trees there. He smiled when he spotted her, but it was a strained smile, and from that she knew he'd heard the news as well.

"I heard the servants talking about the war," she said without preamble. "They say the fighting's about to start."

He wet his lips as though considering what to say. "Aye, so they say."

"I hate war," she said bluntly. "What a horrible, contrary thing it is."

He smiled a little at this, as she had known he would. "Aye."

"Thank goodness you won't have to fight," she said, stepping closer to him and watching his expression closely. "Sally Cotton's brother enlisted last year, I heard her telling the other maid. But you'd never go to war, would you Dickon?"

"Me?" he looked slightly taken aback. "Wha' would I do in France? I'm for growin' things, not destroyin' 'em. 'Sides, I'm too young. Tha's got t' be eighteen t' join, an' tha's more'n a year from now. Th' war'll be over by then." He spoke with such confidence that she couldn't help but believe him.

"Of course," she said, feeling better already. When she had overheard the maids she had been afraid, for just a moment, about what this would mean for Dickon. But his words now filled her with lightness, and an assurance that the war would not touch her little corner of the world, would not steal any of her magic.

"Here, Miss Mary," he said quite suddenly, and when she looked she saw that he was offering her a small, blushing apple. "Th' first o' th' season. Take it."

She beamed at him as she accepted the tiny fruit. "Thank 'ee, Dickon."

He grinned back, and she felt sure that everything would be quite alright.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to those that have reviewed. It's always good to know that someone is reading and enjoying what I post. :)**


	5. five

**A/N: I'm sorry for the rather random chapter lengths. It's cause I didn't write this with any coherent structure in mind, and so some of the scenes are a lot longer than others and a little disjointed. I hope the speed with which I update limits the annoyance of this (I'll get a longer chapter up either tomorrow or the next day).**

* * *

_1915._

That summer was one of the best in Mary's memory. Although she missed Colin, who had been obliged to stay in London, his absence meant that she could spend every day in the garden without worrying about his growing bored or restless. And now that Dickon was working at Misselthwaite he often joined her, and the two of them spent many happy hours tending to the garden together, or else simply lying on the grass enjoying the sunshine. On such days the war seemed very far away indeed, so much so Mary found it hard to believe it was happening at all.

It was a lovely summer, and the garden bloomed in a glorious array of colour. Mary felt the changes echoed in her own body, which was undeniably maturing as the seasons progressed, transforming her from a girl into a young woman.

"Eh, look a' thee," remarked Martha warmly one morning as she helped Mary with the seemingly endless buttons at the back of her dress. "Thy's fillin' out nicely, tha' is." She pinched Mary's waist with a grin. "Look a' these curves! Tha'll be needin' a corset soon."

"Nonsense," she snapped back, feeling a blush spread over her face as she regarded her own reflection in the mirror. She didn't like to notice the changes in her body, as they were a reminder to her that childhood was coming to an end, and that meant all sorts of unpleasant things would soon be forced upon her. Just the thought of a corset made her shudder – she would never be able to work properly in the garden if she was forced to wear one of those. It would mean the end of planting, of being on her hands and knees and digging in the dirt. "I'm no different to how I've always been."

"If tha' says so," grinned Martha, finishing the buttons and giving Mary a quick twirl. "But tha's turned out a beauty, an' make no mistake. Why, our Dickon – " she broke off and bit her lip, as though worried she had said too much.

Mary suddenly felt much too hot and tight in her dress. "Our Dickon what?" she asked tentatively.

But Martha merely shook her head. "Ne'er mind tha'. Now, go run outside an' play, or whatever it is tha' does these days." And she bustled out without another word.

* * *

Mary could not get Martha's words out of her head. She was distracted, and her inability to sort through her thoughts in a logical way was making her contrary. And for once, not even the garden was able to calm her.

"Careful!" Dickon's hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, stopping what she had been about to do. "Tha's a lily, no' a weed!"

Mary blinked and looked down. She had indeed been about to pull the small little seedling out of the earth, as though it had been a thistle. "Oh dear," she whimpered, feeling suddenly close to tears. "I'm sorry."

"Eh, wha's th' matter?" asked Dickon kindly, guiding her hand away from the vulnerable plants and stooping down to look into her eyes. "Tha's been vexed all mornin'."

"I know," she moaned, slumping back onto the grass. "And I'm not quite sure why."

Dickon rubbed his chin with the palm of his hand, as though thinking hard. "If tha' doesn' know, how can tha' be vexed about it?"

She waved this logic aside. "It's just… do you – do you think I've changed?"

"Changed?" he frowned. "In wha' way?"

"I don't know, every way!" She was flustered, and could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks. She couldn't very well ask Dickon if he was noticing the changes happening in her body. Such a question would be far too awkward, no matter how much she wanted to know the answer.

"Well… I s'pose tha' is changin'," he said at last in a slow, careful voice.

She met his eyes, somewhat breathless. "How so?"

"Why, tha's becomin' a lady." His tone was light, his wide mouth stretched into a smile. "When tha' firs' come here, tha' was as wild as a missel thrush. Tha' still is, in a way."

"Is – is that a bad thing?"

"Eh, not at all, if tha' asks me," he took a deep breath of the fresh air and tilted his head to the sky. "But I imagine Medlock an' thy Uncle'll be wantin' thee tamed soon enow."

"Martha said I might have to start wearing a corset soon," she told him with a scowl.

Dickon's eyebrows lifted. "A corset? Wha' for?"

She flushed. "Because…because apparently it is the proper thing for a lady of my age and status to wear."

His face grew solemn. "Well, if it's proper then tha' should do it, Mary."

"I couldn't possibly wear a corset!" she snapped. "I'd never be able to garden properly in it."

Dickon looked horrified at such a prospect. "I never thought o' tha'," he said. "Seems awful silly t' me."

"I agree," she said, feeling better that he thought the same way she did, and together they resumed their gardening, until she stopped once more and looked at him.

"Dickon?" she asked tentatively.

He lifted his head, and she saw with amusement that he had a smudge of dirt on his cheek, an inch or so from his nose. Without thinking, she reached out and rubbed it off with her fingers. His eyes followed her movements and he grew very still.

"Does tha' like me as a lady?" she whispered.

She saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Aye," he said, and his voice was a little hoarse. He coughed and tried again. "Aye, I do."

"Good," she smiled and went back to her weeding, feeling better than she had all day, and thinking that perhaps the changes happening to her body weren't so bad after all.

* * *

**:)**


	6. six

_1915, cont._

* * *

"Where are we going, Dickon?" she asked again, smiling even as she stumbled slightly on the uneven ground. Dickon's hand tightened around her own momentarily, and his voice filtered back to her.

"Tha'll find out soon enow, Miss Mary." She couldn't see his face, because of the blindfold he had made her wear, but she could hear that he was smiling.

"Soon enow?" she repeated in mock imitation. "Tha's been sayin' tha' for over an hour!"

He laughed, and gave her arm a tug to help her over a ledge. She could hear the sound of rushing water growing louder, and her heart began to thump in anticipation. Above their heads, Soot gave a caw of excitement.

"I hope you're not planning anything dangerous," she said, trying to keep her tone light. When he didn't reply she grew worried. "Dickon?"

"Don' worry, Mary," came his voice at last, warm and reassuring. "S' jus' a bit o' fun, is all."

_Fun, _she thought sceptically, but bit her tongue. It was rare enough that she got to spend all day alone with Dickon, what with his work at Misselthwaite and her studies, and she didn't want to waste it on complaining. Not only that, but Colin was due back from London any day now, and she knew that once he was home it would be close to impossible for them to have any time alone.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the time that the three of them spent together. On the contrary, she, Dickon and Colin had become fast friends in the years following her arrival at Misselthwaite, and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way. But there was something special when it was just she and Dickon, something that made her heart flutter and her toes tingle curiously. It was a feeling she was becoming addicted to.

"We're here," breathed Dickon, and a moment later she felt him halt in front of her. His hand didn't release hers though, and for that she was glad.

The sound of water was very loud, like a roaring in her ears. Mary took a deep breath and steeled herself.

"Ready?" came Dickon's soft voice right beside her ear. She forced herself not to tremble as it tickled her.

"Aye."

"Well, then," and his hands came up to her hair, lifting the blindfold very gently from her eyes. Mary kept them shut.

"Tha' can open 'em now, tha' knows?' he whispered teasingly, still very close to her.

"I know," she gasped, aware now of the faint spray in the air, a kind of mist landing on her skin. "It's just… I want to remember this moment forever."

To her surprise, his hands rested lightly on her waist from behind, and she felt his lips on her hair. "So do I."

But then the contact was broken, so quickly she couldn't be sure she hadn't imagined it, and Mary's eyes fluttered open. She blinked against the sudden bright light, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her.

It was a tremendous waterfall, larger than any she had ever seen before. It cascaded from an almost impossible height, spilling over a series of jutting rocks before finally crashing down into a crystal clear pool far below. They were standing on a long, protruding rock ledge about halfway up, so there was a magnificent view whether one looked up or down.

Dickon had moved to stand on the very edge of the outcrop, and he breathed in deeply, his hands on his hips like an explorer from one of the tales. "Does tha' like it?" he asked, turning to grin at her.

"It's… it's beautiful!" she called back, pushing her hair away from her face to better feel the spray on her skin. She was somewhat hot from the climb, and the coolness of it was a welcome relief. "Oh Dickon, I love it!"

He seemed pleased by her enthusiasm. "S'no' many folk as know how t' get here, either," he told her, leaning precariously over the edge to catch a stream of water with his hand. Mary gasped, even though she knew he'd never fall. "S'a secret way. Hidden. I thought tha'd like it."

She beamed at him. "It's like another garden, only wilder."

"An' wetter," he grinned, using his hand to take a drink from the waterfall and smacking his lips. She laughed at his antics, feeling completely at ease. The sun was still gleaming down on them from a bright blue sky, warm and happy. It felt as though her heart was swelling with the pleasure of it; as though she could sing.

She caught Dickon staring at her. The expression on his face made her stomach do strange little flips, but she tried not to show it. Instead she simply stared back, and his lips curved upwards.

"What is it?" she asked, aware that when Dickon smiled like that there was almost always a plan brewing in his mind.

"Oh, nothin' much," he stretched luxuriously, still grinning. "Jus' thinkin' how hot it is, after tha' climb. An' how nice an' cold th' water mus' be."

She blinked at him, before his meaning fully registered in her brain. Her eyes flicked to the pool of water far below them and back to Dickon, whose grin was positively splitting his face now.

"No."

He tossed his head back and laughed. "Eh, an' why no'? Tha'r'nt scared of a bit o' water, are thee?"

She glowered at him. "It's too far. The water won't be deep enough."

"S'deep enow," he answered blithely, hopping onto one foot to pull his boot off, then the other.

"And how do you know that?"

He shook off his outer jacket and unhooked his suspenders so they hung loose from his belt. Mary watched, open-mouthed, as he stripped off first his worn over-shirt and then the plain white singlet he wore underneath, leaving him bare-chested. She stared at the hard, slightly tanned skin of his chest and stomach, and felt a deep blush creep over her cheeks. "Easy," he said. "I've jumped in afore."

It took her longer than it should have for her to register what he said. "When?" she demanded, tearing her eyes away from the firm definition of his body with an effort.

He shrugged. "I found it a few months ago, an' I been back once or twice since then. I've been waitin' for a good day t' show thee." He began to unbuckle his trousers and her eyes practically jumped out of her head.

"Dickon!" she cried, whirling around so she wasn't facing him. Her heart was thudding so hard it was almost painfully.

"Wha'?" he sounded genuinely bemused.

"You can't – you can't just – " she swallowed, hating how shrill her voice was. "You can't just undress like that!"

"I'm no' naked."

"Yes, but – "

"Geronimo!" he yelled suddenly, and she spun around in time to see him cannonball off the edge, his body immediately lost from view in the spray. There was a second of silence, before a deafening splash in the water below.

"Dickon!" she screamed, running to the edge and dropping to her knees. She peered desperately down at the water, but all she could see was froth and bubbles. "_Dickon!"_

There was an odd rippling on the surface, and a moment later Dickon's head broke the surface, sleek as an otter. He shook his hair out of his eyes and waved up at her.

"Come on Mary! Th' water's beautiful!"

She clambered to her feet, trying not to show how scared she had been for a moment. "You are positively _insane, _Dickon Sowerby!"

He laughed. "Jump!"

"I can't!"

"An' why no'?"

She bit her lip, torn about whether to tell him the truth or just make up an excuse. She was ashamed to admit it, but she knew that Dickon would never laugh or make fun of her. "I…" she began hesitantly. "I can't swim."

A look of surprise crossed his features, and for a moment he was speechless. Then he smiled once more and slapped the water with his hand. "Well, I'll teach thee now, then."

Her heart did a flip at the thought. Learn to swim? Now? It was both incredibly tempting and utterly terrifying. But if anyone would be able to teach her, it was Dickon. And she _was _feeling awfully hot.

She gnawed her lip as she watched him swim in a slow, lazy circle below her, as though to demonstrate just how easy it was. She couldn't really jump, could she?

After a minute or so had passed, Dickon stopped and looked up at her again with a disappointed expression. "Eh, tha'rt too scared, I see," he said heavily. "I shoulda brought someone else, wit' stronger vitals."

Her blood boiled, and she immediately made up her mind. "I am _not _scared!" she snapped, her finger scrabbling to untie the ribbons that kept her dress in place. Dickon smirked in satisfaction, and she _knew _he was just baiting her, damn him. But nobody called Mary Lennox a coward. Nobody!

She had stripped down to her chemise before she knew what she was doing. The rock felt cold beneath her bare feet, and the roar of the waterfall seemed louder somehow. Her heart thudded, but she couldn't turn back now. She could see Dickon's face below, no longer smiling but staring up solemnly, lips whispering encouragement under his breath.

"Jump!" he called out.

And so she did. For a moment the sheer terror of being suspended in mid-air struck her, and she screamed. Then gravity tugged her downwards, and before she had even registered that she was falling she felt her feet hit the water; an instant later she was immersed, the world full of bubbles and froth and a strange fizzing noise. She stared around wide-eyed, and opened her mouth by mistake, choking on the cold water as it rushed inside her. Her lungs began to protest and she kicked out wildly, not knowing which way was up or down. What if Dickon couldn't find her? The thought struck her like a cannonball and she began to struggle. Her chemise was so heavy, like a dead weight dragging her down. Her head was spinning and her arms flailed uselessly in the water, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. She was going to drown… she was going to…

And then she felt a pair of strong, capable hands grab her shoulders and drag her upwards, and her head broke the surface and there was air, blissful air, and Dickon's arms around her, holding her steady.

She clung to him, choking back a sob as the terror of drowning receded somewhat from her mind and she came slowly back to reality.

"Eh, tha's alrigh'," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. Still she clung to him, her arms around his neck and her head buried in his shoulder, terrified that he would let go and the water would suck her down again. "Mary, s'alrigh', s'alrigh' now."

She was shivering, a combination of the sudden cold, her terror, and also her embarrassment at such a childish reaction. But Dickon wasn't laughing at her. Instead he cradled her almost reverently, his arms strong and steady around her, one supporting her shoulders and the other under her knees. When she lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him, she saw that he was frowning in concern.

"I'm sorry," she muttered miserably. Her heart was still beating an erratic panic alarm, making it difficult to think straight.

He shook his head. One of his hands shifted its grip, and she felt a momentary return of the terror, but he only reached up to smooth her hair back from her face, and his support of her body didn't falter.

"S'always hard, th' firs' time," he said gently, and she winced at how kind he sounded, as though she were a small child that needed comforting. Which was exactly what she felt like, right then. "I shouldna got tha' to jump from so high. Was loutish o' me."

"No," she tightened her grip around his neck, and thought she saw something flicker in his eyes in response. "It's not you. I'm just a coward, that's all."

"Coward?" He shook his head, and his face was suddenly very close to hers; dangerously close. "Tha's the bravest lass I know, Mary."

"Really?" Mary stared into his eyes, no longer feeling the chill of the water, but rather a burning heat, as though her blood was on fire and would never cool again. She held her breath, the roar of the waterfall fading into the background. Dickon's lips were parted slightly and his blue eyes seemed to take up his entire face. He swallowed and his arms tensed around her just a fraction. He was so close now… so close…

Suddenly there was a loud caw above them. They both started, and Mary almost forgot where she was in her shock. She made to step away before remembering that she was suspended in water and could neither stepnor move backwards. The result was that she gave an odd little jerk, before clinging onto Dickon again.

"What is it?" she asked as Soot cawed again, the sound harsh in the otherwise tranquil silence.

"Listen," said Dickon, and she did. Presently a very faint voice could be heard, above the sound of the waterfall. Someone calling.

"Who is that?" She hoped someone wasn't about to barge in and discover them. Not that they were doing anything wrong, she thought defensively. But she doubted whether Medlock would agree with her; Mary was fairly certain that being in the arms of a half-dressed Dickon Sowerby, wearing nothing but her chemise, would most definitely fall under the broad heading of 'improper.'

"Don' know," answered Dickon, and he looked at her. His face was at a much more respectable distance now, and his eyes didn't meet hers for very long. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "But we'd bes' go check. Can tha' hold on while I swim us t' shore?"

She nodded, and he began to swim, his strong arms powering them to the edge of the pool with no apparent difficulty, despite the awkward weight she placed on him. Mary felt a wave of relief sweep through her when her toes scraped the bottom, and she could stand, wobbling, on her own two feet.

There was no time to dry off. Mary rang out her chemise as best she could, while Dickon scrambled back up the cliff to recover their clothes. They dressed in silence, Mary casting occasional sidelong glances at her friend. He seemed unusually reticent, and there was a slight crease to his brow that hadn't been there earlier, she thought.

The voice was still calling, though it hadn't grown any louder. "Why aren't they coming closer?" she asked as he began to guide them back along the path.

"My guess is they pro'lly canna find th' way," he said, picking his way along the rocks with ease. Mary wished he was still holding her hand.

"It really is a secret place, then?"

"Aye."

"We'll have to come back," she said tentatively, watching his back. The collar of his shirt was wet from his dripping hair. "And you can teach me to swim properly."

He nodded, but didn't turn around. Was she imagining it or were his shoulders much stiffer than normal?

Finally, after a walk that seemed far longer than the one on the way there, they returned to relatively flat ground. They were still in the forest, and there was still no visible track; but far ahead, where the trees ended and their horses stood patiently waiting, she could see another figure.

"Is that – "

"Colin," said Dickon, and he picked up his pace.

It was indeed Colin, his face pinched in annoyance, pacing beside their horses with a hand raised to magnify his voice.

"Mary!" he bellowed, his face red from shouting and his blonde fringe falling into his eyes. "Mary! Where _are _you?"

"I'm right here," she said when she was close enough that she didn't have to shout. He jumped as if electrocuted and span to face her, his face paling as though he had seen a ghost.

"Mary!" he exclaimed, striding forward. "There you are! I've been calling for half an hour!"

She bit her lip and resisted the urge to snap at him. "I thought you were in London," she said instead.

"I was," he said, sounding slightly hurt. "But I came back today, and you weren't at home."

"We went for a ride," said Mary, feeling too contrary to let him in on the secret of the waterfall just yet.

Colin's eyes flicked to Dickon, who was standing just behind her. "Some ride," he muttered.

"How did you find us?" she asked.

Colin's cheeks flushed. "I rode to Thwaite," he said, not meeting her eye. "Since Medlock said you had gone to visit Mrs Sowerby. And when you weren't there, I asked around until I found someone who said they'd seen you heading east over the moor, so I went in that direction until I saw your horses here, and then I tried to find you in the woods but I couldn't, so I came back here and tried calling."

"That's an awful lot of effort," said Mary dryly. "Why didn't you wait until we came back to the Manor?"

He glared at her. "I was worried."

"Worried!" she exclaimed. "Whatever for? You knew I was with Dickon."

Colin looked back at Dickon with a sour expression, then seemed to notice something. "You're all wet," he said in a slightly accusatory manner. His eyes travelled over them, taking in Mary's dripping hair and the damp neckline of her dress. "What have you been doing?"

"Swimming," she answered defiantly. She turned to glance at Dickon, deciding it was up to him to tell Colin about the hidden waterfall. After all, he had been the one who discovered it. It was his secret.

But Dickon didn't say anything, and the silence stretched.

"Swimming?" echoed Colin blankly. His eyes raced from Dickon to Mary and back again. "But… where?"

"Never mind that," said Mary. "I'm cold and I need to change my clothes. Shall we go home?"

They began the long ride back across the moor. Colin prattled away about the interesting things he had been learning in London, and Mary half-listened to him. She kept her eye on Dickon, and grew progressively more concerned when he failed to contribute to the conversation. Even Soot seemed subdued, riding on Dickon's shoulder rather than flying ahead as he had on the way to the waterfall.

When they reached the fork in the road that led to Thwaite, Colin stopped.

"You may as well go home now," he told Dickon rather imperiously. "There's no sense in riding all the way to Misselthwaite and back. I can take Mary from here."

"I thought Dickon could have dinner with us," she suggested, but Colin waved her off.

"I'm sure Dickon would much rather eat with his family. Isn't that right, Dickon?"

"But – " she began.

"S'alrigh', Miss Mary," said Dickon. His voice was warm as usual, but she couldn't help but think his smile was a little strained. "Colin's righ'. I'll see thee tomorrow."

"I suppose," she said sulkily. He grinned at her tone, then touched his cap and eased Jump in the opposite direction, moving away along the boggy track with ease.

She and Colin rode in silence for a while. Mary could tell he was waiting for the right moment to speak, and she wished he would just get it over with.

"You shouldn't go off alone so far from the Manor," he said at last, sounding very authoritative for a fifteen-year-old boy.

"I wasn't alone," she said stubbornly. "I was with Dickon."

He sighed. "You know what I mean, Mary."

"And why not?" she demanded.

He faltered somewhat under her withering stare. "It's not – it's not particularly proper, is it? Just you and Dickon alone, with no supervision. Who knows what people will say."

"_People _should mind their own business," she said scathingly.

"Especially when they see the two of you went swimming," Colin went on, as though he hadn't heard her. "I hope you weren't in the water at the same _time, _Mary."

She blushed, thinking of how close they had been, Dickon bare-chested and she only in her chemise, wrapped together like… like… she stared off to the side, feeling hot again just remembering. The strength of his arms holding her, his lips so close… so close to hers…

"Well?" Colin's voice cut in impatiently.

"Oh leave me be, Colin!" she snapped. She knew he would most certainly _not _approve of the way she and Dickon had behaved, and this frustrated her for reasons she couldn't explain. "I already have one Medlock, I don't need another."

There was a long pause. "I was only asking," he mumbled at last, sounding put-out. "There's no need to be like that."

And they rode the rest of the way home in stormy silence.

* * *

**Thanks, as always, for the reviews. They're heartwarming :)**


	7. seven

_1915, cont. _

* * *

It had been a stupid idea. Colin shifted restlessly from foot to foot, wondering how he had ever been convinced to agree to such foolishness. It had something to do with Mary, and the spell she cast over him whenever she smiled that special smile, the one that made him agree to anything she asked, no matter what his better judgement might be telling him.

Now, his eyes were fixed ahead of him, to where Mary was making her slow, laborious way across the old tree trunk that had fallen across this particular stretch of the river, the same tree trunk Dickon had proposed they cross in order to save themselves a long walk to the ford and back. Never mind that the tree trunk looked about a century old, slick with water and lichen, and that the drop from there down to the rapids below was some twenty feet. No, once Dickon had suggested it there was no way Mary could be persuaded otherwise, and so there she was, balanced so precariously on the wood that it hurt to watch her, her arms held out to either side for balance and her small frame tense with concentration.

Dickon was walking backwards in front of her, his eyes watching sharply lest she should trip or stumble, and his hands held up ready to catch her. He himself appeared as relaxed as though he was walking on cement, his feet finding purchase on the slippery surface as easily as any wild creature's would. Colin sighed. He hated watching like this, feeling so useless; but Dickon hadn't wanted all three of them on the log at the same time, and they all knew that of the two of them, Dickon had the better balance.

"This is stupid!" he called out, unable to stop himself. They were barely halfway across and it felt like he had been waiting forever. He tapped his foot impatiently. "I told you this was a stupid idea!"

Mary stiffened at his words, and swayed abruptly as though she had tried to turn but couldn't. Dickon's hand shot out to steady her, and his eyes lifted to Colin's, surprisingly angry.

"Quiet, Colin!" he said with uncharacteristic sharpness, and Colin felt his cheeks flush in anger. How dare he speak to him like that… but he grit his teeth because deep down he knew Dickon was right.

They continued; a slow, agonising process that made Colin twitch. He could see Dickon's lips moving, no doubt whispering words of encouragement to Mary, and rolled his eyes in annoyance. And then the unthinkable happened.

Mary laughed and shook her head at something Dickon had said, and for just a moment he straightened, his lips quirking as he gazed at her with fondness and affection and something else that made Colin's blood boil and thump in his ears. Then, almost as though it had been waiting for Dickon's lapse in concentration, a gust of wind blew through the gully, surprisingly strong. It caught Mary by surprise, and Colin watched as though in slow motion as her body tilted down and sideways, and her foot slipped on the precarious surface. And just like that, she was falling.

Dickon was fast. His arms shot out to grab her, but she had already moved too far away from him; he fastened both hands around one of her wrists instead, falling over himself as her weight dragged them both sideways. For a moment it appeared as though they would both tumble over the edge and down to the water far below; but somehow Dickon managed to hook his left leg around the tree trunk just in time, locking it there with grim determination and stopping their fateful slide. Mary hung like a ragdoll in mid-air, the only thing stopping her from falling twenty feet Dickon's grip around her wrist.

It had all happened so quickly, Colin barely had time to react. He lurched forward, knowing there was nothing he could do but powerless to stop himself nonetheless. Dickon's face was ghost white, his lips pressed in a thin line as he struggled to hold her and stay upright on the log at the same time. If he should let go… Colin felt his stomach churn, and made to step onto the log, desperate to help, to do _something_. But as soon as he put his weight upon the trunk it creaked dangerously, and Dickon's head snapped up, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Don'!" he called out in a hoarse voice. "I don' wan' t' risk it."

"Risk it!" cried Colin hysterically, stepping back off the log with a groan of frustration. "I think you've already risked it, Dickon! Look at her!" He didn't like the fact that Dickon had taken his eyes off Mary while she was still just dangling there. If he dropped her…

Dickon looked back at Mary, who had her eyes shut and seemed to be praying. "S'alrigh'" he said in a valiant attempt at calm. "I got 'er."

"Oh yes, you _got_ her alright," seethed Colin, unable to keep silent. "By the skin of your teeth, you got her, and only barely at that!"

Dickon ignored him, his attention now solely focused on Mary. He said something under his breath that Colin couldn't hear, and Mary nodded once, her face pale but stoic. He had to marvel at her calm; most other girls he knew would have been sobbing in terror by now, and he wouldn't have blamed them.

Slowly, Dickon began to pull her up, his jaw clenched and the muscles in his arms straining with the effort. When she was high enough, he lifted one hand from her wrist to scoop under her other arm and around her chest. He dragged her up and over his lap, unceremoniously, until she was draped across him like a naughty child about to receive a smack. Then he turned her over, and she put her arms around his neck and her head against his shoulder, and his arms wrapped tightly around her, squeezing like he would never let go. And the danger was over.

It all took less than a minute, but Colin felt as though he had been waiting in agony for hours. Neither Dickon nor Mary paid him any heed; they seemed completely lost in each other, in the embrace they were sharing. Dickon had one hand wrapped around Mary's waist, another stroking her long hair in a smooth, rhythmic fashion. His eyes were closed, and his lips close to her temple, moving softly. Colin could only imagine the sorts of things he was whispering in her ear.

He felt a furious rage course through him as he watched them, frightening in its intensity. Mary had been in danger, _real _danger, and it was all because of Dickon; Dickon and his idiotic suggestion that they cross to the other side of the river. And now Dickon was the one comforting her, cradling her against his chest as though… as though… and it had been _his _idea that put her in danger in the first place! It wasn't fair and the injustice of it made Colin's fists clench.

At that moment Dickon's eyes opened and met Colin's where he still stood on the other side of the bank. Colin could see his own fear echoed there, along with a strange sort of defiance, as though Dickon knew exactly what Colin was thinking and was replying in kind. _I love this girl, _Dickon's stare seemed to say. _I love her and I'm going to comfort her and there's nothing you can do that will stop me. _Colin blinked and looked away, pursing his lips.

* * *

By the time they had all crossed to the other side, Mary was smiling again, and already laughing about her near fall. For once, Dickon and Colin were united in their disapproval.

"S'no' funny, Mary," said Dickon sternly. "Tha' could've fallen."

She smiled at him. "I knew you'd catch me," she said, and the gushing adoration in her voice made Colin's gut squirm.

"Nonsense," he snapped angrily. "You didn't _know _that at all. Dickon's just human, like the rest of us. He's not an angel."

She glared at him fiercely. "It's your fault I even unbalanced in the first place," she retorted. "If you hadn't been acting so impatient, I would never have tried to hurry."

He spluttered in incoherent rage, dismayed that she had somehow managed to twist things so it was _his_ fault. "That's – that's ridiculous," he said at last, feeling his whole face heat. "Maybe if _Dickon_ had been paying attention, instead of – instead of – "

There was a dangerous silence. "Instead of what?" hissed Mary, positively spitting with anger. "Instead of _what, _Colin?"

"Never mind," he scowled, breathing heavily to try to get a hold of his emotions.

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Dickon cut her off.

"Leave it be, Mary," he said firmly.

She looked at him, nodded, and closed her mouth. Colin glowered at a rock, hating that it was once again Dickon who defused the situation. But he said nothing, because really, what was there to say?

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to my lovely reviewers. You guys are the best :)**


	8. eight

**A/N: So sorry for the delay. I've been internet-less for a couple of weeks now. Should be getting back to normal soon enough. In the meantime hope you enjoy this offering :)**

* * *

_1915._

* * *

Mary was idling along the garden path, with no particular destination in mind. There was a light rain falling, but she paid it no heed, years of Yorkshire living having made her all but impervious to such a trifle. It was better than being cooped up indoors at any rate, where her governess was almost certainly waiting to ambush her with more work, or Medlock to lecture her about the state of her dress. Outside in the gardens no one was likely to bother her. And she might even run into Dickon.

She heard voices and began to slow instinctively. A moment later, and she recognised the high, lilting tones of her close friend Martha Sowerby. Mary smiled to herself, thinking to sneak up on the older girl and give her a fright. She slowed to a complete stop, and was about to spring around the corner when another, distinctly masculine voice came to her attention.

Her eyes widened and she pulled up short. She had long suspected that Martha had a secret beau, but the serving girl was always uncharacteristically tight-lipped on the subject whenever she tried to find out more about it. Mary was dying to know who it was. So she kept silent as the voices carried towards her.

"…Saturday nigh'," the man had just finished saying. His voice was vaguely familiar, but Mary couldn't immediately place it. "I'd dearly love if tha' would accomp'ny me."

"Eh, Lord knows I'd like t'," said Martha, her voice breathy and hushed. Mary grinned. "But I doubt Mrs Medlock'll give me th' nigh' off. S'no' my time, an' – "

"Will tha' ask, at least? T'will be a righ' ol' dance, I'm sure of it."

_A dance,_ thought Mary, her heart rate picking up in excitement. She had been meaning to ask Dickon if she could go to a village dance, now that she was confident enough of the steps to follow along. She bit her lip in excitement.

"Aye, I'll ask," said Martha. "Bu' I'm no' promisin'."

"That'll do for now, lass."

Mary scurried away as she heard the sound of talking give way to another, more private activity. She didn't want to intrude on Martha's romance. It was only when she was back inside, her heart thumping, that she realised she still didn't know the identity of the mystery beau.

* * *

"Wha' are thee smilin' abou'?" asked Martha good-naturedly later that evening, as she took a break from her work to sit with Mary while she ate. "I'd say tha's been gettin' int' trouble, if I didn' know thee any better."

Mary could hardly swallow her food for ginning so much. She finished her mouthful and beamed at the other girl. "Eh, I'll tell 'ee, but tha'll be mad."

Martha snorted, then clapped a hand over her mouth in abashment. "Now, Miss! Thy English is terrible!"

"I thought I should practise my Yorkshire, for Saturday night," said Mary slyly, watching her friend's expression closely.

Martha's blue eyes widened and a deep blush spread across her face. "_Miss Mary!_" she hissed in apparent mortification. "Tha's been eavesdroppin', tha' young vixen!"

Mary laughed. "I couldn't help it, I was rounding the corner and I so desperately wanted to know who your secret beau was – " she laughed again as Martha covered her face with both hands. "I am sorry, but I just couldn't _stand_ not knowing."

"Tha' shouldn' 'ave," mumbled Martha, still with her face covered. "Tha's a naughty girl."

"Don't be mad," said Mary cajolingly. "If it makes you feel any better I still don't know who he is, because I didn't look around the corner and I didn't recognise his voice. So you simply _must_ tell me, Martha. I can't wait any longer. Who is he?"

"Oh Miss," the maid moaned, taking her hands away from her face to stare agonisingly at her. "Tha' canna tell a soul! I'll be in so much trouble – Medlock'd fire me fo' sure, an' Roger – " she clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

"Roger?" Mary repeated, and suddenly the vaguely familiar voice was placed in her mind. "Roger Butterworth, the stable hand?"

"Oh, curse my big mouth," groaned Martha. "S' nothin' official, Miss. We're jus' good friends, is all."

"Colin's my good friend, and I don't kiss him on the mouth after a conversation," laughed Mary, sending her friend into a fit of hysterics. "But anyway," she continued, putting a hand on Martha's shoulder in an attempt to comfort the poor girl. "Oh for heaven's sake Martha, don't worry, you silly thing. I won't tell anyone. But if I may say so, the two of you make a very sweet pair."

Martha hugged her around the waist suddenly, half laughing through her sobs. "Eh, bu' tha's a special girl, Miss," she mumbled to Mary's bemusement. "Th' day tha' came t' Misselthwaite was a day th' dear Lord blessed us all."

Mary blushed at this high praise, feeling warm and happy. "But what about this dance!" she said, extricating herself from Martha with an effort. "On Saturday night. We must go, Martha. Oh we must!"

Martha blinked at her in confusion. "We?" she repeated blankly.

"Yes, we," said Mary. "I've been learning to dance the way the villagers do, and I positively have to try out the steps in a proper setting."

Martha was gaping at her as though she had expressed a desire to join the circus as a lion tamer. "A – a local dance?"

"_Yes,_" she emphasised, frustrated that her friend was acting so obtuse. "You can go with Roger and I can go with Dickon."

At the mention of her brother something in Martha's expression changed. She looked tense all of a sudden. "Oh, Miss…it wouldna' be proper."

Mary could feel her good mood evaporating as quickly as it had come. "It's only a dance," she said a little disdainfully.

"Aye, but…" Martha was wringing her hands together fretfully. "They'd never let tha'…Mrs Medlock would never…an' Dickon, he wouldn'…"

"He wouldn't what?" she demanded. "Wouldn't want to take me?"

"Oh, don' be vexed Miss," begged Martha. "S'nothin' like tha'. But people would talk somethin' dreadful. Th' gossip… it wouldna do anybody no good."

Mary scowled heavily and folded her arms across her chest. "I want to go."

"S'posed to be awful borin', or so I hear," Martha attempted, in a painfully transparent attempt to dissuade her.

"That's not what Roger said!"

Martha squeaked and blushed bright red again. "Eh, tha's a naughty lass, make no mistake."

"I want to go to the dance!"

"Ask Mrs Medlock, then," said Martha, and Mary felt her spirits sink. She knew as well as the other girl that the elderly housekeeper would never allow such a thing.

"I _hate _being a lady!"

* * *

"Are you going to the dance Saturday night?"

She had tried to keep her voice light and innocent, but the look on Dickon's face as he glanced up from his work told her that her attempt had been an abject failure.

"Th' dance?" he asked, peering at her over his shovel. There was a streak of dirt smudged across his forehead, and his cheeks were ruddy from exertion. "How does tha' know abou' tha'?"

"Never mind that," she said quickly, not wanting to give Martha's secret away. She wasn't sure how Dickon would react to the news that Roger Butterworth was courting his sister, if he didn't already know. "I asked if you were going?"

Dickon smiled wryly. "Aye, I'm goin'."

She felt a twinge of jealousy spark within her, and wondered how many other dances Dickon had been to without ever telling her. "Do you go often?"

"Of'en enow."

"Oh," she slipped round to his other side, and his gaze followed her. "Are they awfully fun?"

He shrugged, taking his cap off to run a hand through his hair. "Dancin's good for th' soul, me ma allus says. An' I do enjoy th' music."

She was bursting with questions, but couldn't think of how to ask them without arousing his suspicions. "Where will it be held?" she attempted in her most innocent voice.

Dickon's gaze was sharp now. "An' why would tha' wan' t' know such a thing?"

She bit her lip. "What if something happened, and I needed to reach you? It's always good to know where one's friends are, at all times." It sounded weak, even to her ears.

"Mary…"

"And why shouldn't I go?" she demanded, abandoning all pretence and stamping her foot. "I've as much right to go and dance as anybody else has!"

Dickon looked at her incredulously. "Go to th' dance? Tha'?"

She felt tears of impatience stinging behind her eyes. "You needn't sound so appalled," she said stiffly.

"Appalled?" his brows furrowed. "I'm no' – "

But suddenly she couldn't stand to listen to him. He was going to be so kind, and she didn't want his kindness right then. It was blindingly obvious that she wouldn't be welcome at the dance…perhaps she'd never be welcome.

She spun on her heel and stalked off, breaking into a run when she heard him call her name. She sprinted all the way to the edge of the outer garden, where the moor began, before slumping against the hedge and scowling out into space. The moor seemed to stare balefully back at her, its bleak shadows mirroring her own dark mood.

It wasn't long before she felt his hand on her shoulder. She jerked out of his grasp, feeling as contrary as she ever had in her life, but his hand followed her, resting on her hair so gently that she felt her anger lessening despite herself.

"Mary…"

"I just want to be one of you," she said in a small voice, still staring out over the moor. For some reason it was easier to say such things when she didn't have to face him.

He made a sound that could have been sympathy or disbelief. "Why would tha' wan' tha'?" he asked softly. "When tha's got so much."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again without a word. _Wasn't it obvious?_ she thought bitterly. She wanted to be one of them so she could be with _him._ That was the truth of it and yet she could never, ever say it.

His hand continued to stroke her hair, and she closed her eyes at the sensation. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, and it was all she could not to simply lean back against his chest. She imagined how it would feel, to have his arms around her, strong and warm and protective. God how she wanted that…

"S'in th' town square, incident'ly," he whispered suddenly against her ear, his voice so soft it sent tingles down her spine. "Where th' big dances are always held."

Her breath caught, and without thinking she spun around and threw her arms around his neck. He stumbled slightly, putting a hand on her waist to steady himself.

"Thank you Dickon," she mumbled into his shoulder, breathing deep and smelling earth, heather and honey – the scents of the moor. "Oh thank you!"

"Tha' shouldn' let anyone see tha'," he said earnestly. "I shouldna' told thee. If thy Uncle finds out, he'll – "

"He won't," she said breathlessly, becoming aware of the delicious firmness of Dickon's chest, and the strength of his arms around her. He wasn't embracing her properly, not really, his hands only resting loosely on her waist, but she still never wanted to let go. "I won't let anyone see me, I promise."

"An' careful on th' moor at nigh'," he continued, now sounding thoroughly displeased. "S' dangerous for a wee lassie….I shouldna' told thee. I'm a righ' bumblin' fool."

"Thank you," she said again, and before she could think better of it she reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "See you soon!" And she slipped out of his arms and away back down the path, her face burning as though she had put it straight into an oven.

She looked back before the turn in the path that would take her back to the main gardens. Dickon was still standing where she had left him, gazing out over the moor. One of his hands was lifted to his cheek, his fingers touching the spot where she had kissed him. Mary felt her heart thud and a new kind of emotion ignite deep within her. With one last look, she rounded the corner and vanished from sight.


	9. nine

**A/N: I swear I don't know where the time goes. I was going to upload this chapter a while back, then I decided I wasn't happy with it and, well, the rest is history I guess. Still not entirely satisfied, truth be told, but at a certain point you've got to let go, ya know, and just let the thing sink and swim. **

* * *

_1915_

* * *

It was not the first time Mary had snuck out of Misselthwaite. It was not even the first time she had snuck out to meet Dickon, having gone with him on several midnight excursions to visit badger's lairs or search for night owls, both with and without Colin. But there was something different about this time – something new and exciting and dangerous, that made her heart flutter and her fingertips tingle in a way she had never experienced before in any of her other secret expeditions.

She needn't have bothered asking for directions to the dance – it was as plain as day where it was the instant Thwaite came into view across the moor. The town square was illuminated from the light of a massive bonfire, and the sound of several pipes, fiddles and drums filtered through the night, mingling with the laughter and singing of the villagers. Mary urged her horse on quietly, her eyes straining to make sure no one was keeping a look out in her direction.

True to her word, she dismounted from Maisy well before she was in sight and tethered her to a fence post before continuing the rest of the way on foot. She crept forward, scarcely daring to breathe, until she reached a dry stone wall only a few yards from the dancers. There she paused, her eyes wide as she drank in the sight before her.

It was indeed a merry old time – the music was loud, and the fire shone a cheerful light across the whole square. Mary watched the other young people with a pang of envy, the bright skirts of the girls as they spun and circled and their happy, laughing faces. She could see several of the Sowerby children dancing in amongst the throng, and her heart longed to join them. She could almost imagine running out and slipping in beside them, unnoticed; after all, she knew the steps as well as they, though she wasn't sure she could move as quickly as they did on their feet.

It took her a moment to locate Dickon. He was on the other side of the fire, playing his pipe alongside the other musicians. His feet tapped in time with the music, and his laughing eyes darted around the crowd as though trying to take in everything at once. The firelight turned his hair a deep bronze and gave his face a golden touch, and Mary was suddenly struck by how grown up he looked. She wasn't sure when exactly Dickon had turned from boy to man, but looking at him now there was no denying that such a transformation had taken place.

As she watched, a pretty redheaded girl approached Dickon from behind and tapped him shyly on the shoulder. He turned to look at her and she made a clear gesture for him to come and dance. Mary stiffened, her eyes narrowing of their own accord. She wished she was close enough to hear what was being said. Dickon gave a shake of his head, indicating his pipe, but the boy next to him nudged him playfully and nodded for him to go with the girl. After a brief hesitation Dickon shrugged and pocketed his instrument, allowing the girl to lead him into the crowd of dancers.

Mary felt her insides squeeze uncomfortably, and she edged forwards despite herself. Her eyes fixed on Dickon as he moved fluidly to the music, noting how his hands rested on the girl's waist and the way he laughed as he spun her around. She wanted to call out to him, to run forward and dance with him so that all the other girls knew he was _hers. _The intensity of her own possessiveness surprised her, and she felt a little abashed.

Dickon was definitely keeping an eye out for her. Mary watched him peer about as he danced, his eyes skimming over the heads of those around him and out into the darkness beyond the fire's reach. He soon left the redheaded girl, and moved to dance with one of his sisters, before another lass came to claim him. Mary fidgeted impatiently, wanting to move closer so that he would see her but afraid of getting caught at the same time. Lord only knew what Mrs Medlock would say if she could see her now.

Finally, when Dickon had made his way around the edge close to where she stood, she took a risk and stepped out from behind the wall, shifting to a spot where she would be just visible in the dimness to someone who was looking. He spotted her almost immediately, his eyes widening with shock before he quickly shuttered his expression. Moments later, as the song changed, she saw him excuse himself and slip quietly out of the crowd in her direction. She ducked back into the shadows, her heart racing.

He was at her side within a minute. The sounds of the night seemed to die away as he regarded her, and Mary found herself feeling curiously abashed. In the dark, in such an unfamiliar setting, Dickon seemed different somehow, almost like a stranger. But that was silly. Mary blinked and shook her head – it was only _Dickon,_ she chided herself. There was no reason to be shy.

"I knew tha'd come," he said, his voice low and holding a distinct note of disapproval. "Tha' shouldn' have, Mary."

She glared at him, wishing he could be more pleased to see her. "There's an awful lot of people here," she said instead. "It seems almost as if the whole village has come."

He grinned. "Aye, an' then some."

"Are you having fun?"

A shrug. "Fun enow."

"Is your mother here? I couldn't spot her."

Dickon's smile slipped a little. "Eh, she had t' stay home t'night. Pa's still got th' cough, an' she didn' wan' t' leave him."

Without thinking Mary put a hand on his arm, and felt him tense. She quickly let it drop. "I'm sorry Dickon."

He shrugged again, reaching up a hand to ruffle his hair. Then he seemed to take stock of her appearance for the first time. "Didst tha' walk all th' way here?" he asked, frowning at her muddy boots and the wet hem of her dress. "Alone?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Maisy's just a way back. I didn't want anybody to see her."

He shot her a look that seemed torn between admiration and disapproval. "What am I goin' t' do wi' thee, eh? Tha's as wild as any animal, tha' is."

"I do so want to dance," she said wistfully, looking over toward the fire. "It looks like such fun."

Dickon followed her gaze. "Aye," he agreed in a soft voice. "An' what a shock it'd give th' folk t' see thee stride up an' join 'em."

"Do you think they would laugh at me?"

His eyes crinkled a little in amusement, but he shook his head. "Laugh? Eh, no. It'd confuse 'em somethin', though." His brow furrowed. "An' I s'pect ev'ry lad'd be wantin' a dance wi' thee, after a bit."

She felt oddly irritated by his words. "But it wouldn't matter," she insisted. "Because I only want to dance with you."

He regarded her with his head tilted to one side. Then, abruptly, he held out his arms. She stared at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"If tha' only wants t' dance wi' me, then we can dance righ' here, can we no'?" He took one of her hands in his, and pulled her a little closer. "S'all th' same, wi' th' music."

She beamed at him and hurried to place her hands on his shoulders. He huffed a laugh in bemusement at her enthusiasm, but guided her forward all the same. They couldn't dance properly, not as the townsfolk were doing at any rate, for it would attract too much attention and they had no partners with which to interchange as the dance required. But Mary found herself perfectly content, twirling occasionally and moving in a slow circle through the dark with him. She had rarely been this close to Dickon for such a long time, and she found that the proximity was doing strange things to her body. The song began to pick up tempo and they danced a kind of half-jig along the dark side of the wall, one of his hands resting on her waist and the other holding firmly to her own. Despite the restrictions on their movements, Mary could feel that she was flushed, her cheeks hot with the exercise and something else she couldn't identify, and her breath coming much quicker than normal. Dickon spun her once and tilted her downwards, one hand placed on the small of her back to anchor her. Mary felt her hair come loose in the movement, pouring heavily down over her shoulders.

She found herself staring straight up into his eyes, which in the darkness resembled dark wells of water, rather than the bright blue of daytime. Dickon's face was very close to hers, his mouth only a few inches from her own. A sudden, urgent desire to close the gap between them swept over her, and she wet her lips unconsciously as she fought down her desire. Dickon's eyes darted to her mouth and he swallowed convulsively, the easy smile he had been wearing slipping away to be replaced by an odd look that made Mary's body tingle deliciously. The music faded into the background as she hung there, supported only by the strength of his arms, and she knew in that moment just how badly she wanted him to kiss her.

"Dickon I – "

But before she could speak, the song ended on a flourish and a loud cheer went up around the campfire, breaking the spell between them. Dickon blinked rapidly, as though coming back to himself, then cleared his throat and brought her upright again in a fluid motion.

Mary's stomach was still flipping itself into a strange pile of knots, and she found herself incredibly unwilling to step out of Dickon's arms. But looking back towards the bonfire, she saw the redheaded girl from earlier approach the boy playing pipes in Dickon's absence and wave her hands around as though questioning him about something. The boy shrugged once and shook his head, and the girl stomped off in obvious annoyance.

Dickon had followed her gaze, and he stopped moving with a rueful expression. "I'd best be gettin' back," he told her, and his voice sounded different, constrained almost, as though he was keeping a tight hold on it. "'Fore they start lookin' for me. An' tha'll be missed too, if tha's no' careful."

She nodded and let go of him reluctantly. The night air seemed to rush between them, freezing the magic that had sparked there, turning it to something else, something Mary didn't know what to do with. Her hands smoothed her skirts nervously, and her eyes darted to his face and away again.

"Will I see thee tomorrow?" she asked, finding it easier to ask the question in Yorkshire than in plain English. "I know tha' doesn' have work, of a Sunday."

"I'll be there," he whispered, so softly it was like a breath of wind that she almost didn't catch. He reached up and touched her cheek gently with one finger, then slipped away and back into the crowd. She saw him ease his way around to where the musicians were playing, taking out his pipe once more and picking up the tune again where he had left off. The boy beside him gave him a curious glance, but nothing more than that. For a few minutes Mary watched them, before turning slowly and picking her way back out into the darkness to where Maisy was waiting patiently. The night was over – it was time to go home.

* * *

**A/N: Feedback is always cherished and appreciated :)**


	10. ten

**A/N: Just a short update in lieu of something longer.**

* * *

Dickon didn't eat in the servants' hall at Misselthwaite very often. He preferred to take his food outside, and sit and eat it in the fresh air where the wild things could come and nibble at his crumbs. Food tasted better when one could breathe the clean moor air, or so his mother always said.

But it was thundering outside today, and his sister had coaxed him to stay indoors. Martha had always fussed over him, and he didn't want her to fret about him getting drenched and catching cold, not when so many of their siblings had already fallen sick. So he had agreed to take his lunch with her instead.

But then Medlock had come in all of a tither, carrying on about sheets and Lord Craven's imminent arrival, and Martha had been obliged to leave and do the elderly woman's bidding. And then, before he could make a quick exit, Simon the Butcher's boy had slid in across from him and engaged him in conversation.

"'Ow's that Medlock, eh?" the boy commented thickly through a mouthful of bread. "Runs us off our bloody feet, she does, an' no thanks we get fo' it neither."

Dickon shrugged noncommittally. In truth he hardly ever saw the housekeeper – his overseers were Roach and Ben Weatherstaff, and he liked them both well enough.

"Saw the little Miss today," noted Simon, a sly grin sliding over his face that made Dickon tense instantly. "Walkin' abou' th' gardens, lookin' for somethin.' Or some_one_."

Dickon chewed his food and made no reply. He and Mary weren't doing anything wrong or untoward. They were only friends, that was all.

"Mm, bu' she 'as turned out a righ' stunner, 'asn't she," continued Simon, oblivious to Dickon's glare. "Fie, but 'ave you 'ad a look a' those curves? I'd wager there's a righ' pretty parcel under all those clothes, I would."

Dickon scowled at the other boy, his hands clenched just a little too tightly around his mug. Simon blinked in slow-witted confusion for a moment, before he rolled his eyes.

"Alrigh' alrigh', no need to go lookin' like tha'. I'll no' touch th' lass, but any man's goin' t' notice tha' she's turned out righ' pretty ways."

"She's only fifteen," said Dickon stiffly. "She's still a child."

"Phht!" scoffed Simon. "You tryin' t' tell me tha' still looks at 'er as tha' would a child? Come off it Dickon! We all see 'ow it is 'tween th' two o' thee."

Dickon schooled his features a careful neutral, but it was much harder than it should have been. "I don' know wha' tha's talkin' about," he mumbled.

"Eh, suit thysel'," shrugged Simon, taking a hearty chug of ale. "But tha' can guarantee that when she's sent t' London in a bit, ev'ry lad there's goin' t' be seein' her as a woman, an' wantin' a piece of 'er for 'emselves, make no mista – "

Dickon stood up abruptly, almost knocking his stool over. "Tha' shouldn' talk o' th' Mistress in such a manner," he said in a hard voice. "S'no' right." And he turned and stalked off, leaving Simon gaping open-mouthed after him.

It was only when he was outside underneath the pouring rain that Dickon finally managed to unclench his hands from the tight fists they had formed. He had never, ever wanted to punch someone before, but he had wanted to just then. Hearing Simon speak like that about Mary…it had set something off in his blood, something unpleasant that he didn't much like the feel of. Shaking his head, he set off at a brisk pace, heedless of the rain falling or the roll of thunder in the sky. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he felt like he needed to think on it a while before he returned to work again.

* * *

**A/N: let me know what you think, and hopefully I'll get something more up soon. :)**


	11. eleven

**A/N: I'm _so _sorry for the delay! I got stuck in a rut for a while. But I promise to have more soon. **

* * *

_1916._

* * *

Colin knew as soon as he stepped out of the carriage that something had changed. It was there in the tingle of the air, the feeling that something new and beautiful was afoot. It was in the small smiles of the servants to each other when they thought no one was looking, when really there was no reason to be smiling at all.

Colin knew what the cause of such happiness was, and it hit him like a cold stone in the pit of his stomach. He squared his jaw and looked around him at the Manor, at the gardens and the moor stretching away from them, and felt the oppressiveness of the place pressing in on him like a stifling blanket.

He had hardly taken a step when there was a cry from the walkway leading round to the gardens, and the sound of feet running on gravel. A moment later and Mary had thrown herself into his arms.

"Oh Colin!" she gasped, pressing herself to him in a way that made his breath catch and his body react in a distinctly un-cousin-like manner. "It's so good to see you!"

He hurriedly stepped back and away from her, unable to bear the sweet torture of her touch. For a split second Mary looked hurt, before the smile was back on her face and she took his hand and began to talk at a million miles an hour, almost slipping into Yorkshire now and then in her haste.

"Oh but it is _so_ good t' see thee again and my goodness you've grown so _tall, _you look like a right proper gentleman now, and you simply _must _come an' see th' garden, it's positively graidely at the moment, Dickon and I have been tending t' it every day, Dickon works here now o' course and – " she stopped suddenly and turned on the spot. "But where is Dickon?"

"Right here, Miss Mary," came the laughing voice to their right, and Colin turned to see Dickon standing a few feet from them, his hands in his pockets and a lopsided grin on his face. He saw Colin and nodded once. "All righ', Colin?"

Colin nodded back and forced a smile. Dickon had shot up since he'd last seen him over a year ago, and he was looking every bit the strapping young Yorkshire lad Colin had always known he would turn into. His face had lost its youthful softness and become lean and handsome, but the bright blue eyes, upturned nose and wide, laughing mouth were the same as they'd always been. Beneath his simple working clothes it was obvious that Dickon had grown from boy to man, his body hardened from a life of labour in a way that Colin's never would be.

Hurriedly, Colin averted his gaze, not wanting to be caught staring. Mary was still babbling away, oblivious to the fact that Colin wasn't paying attention. She had only grown more beautiful in the past year, he noted with a combination of pride and bitterness. Her hair was long and buttery, her eyes sparkled with life, and beneath her summer frock she had developed the body of a young woman, all soft roundness and gentle curves. He averted his eyes again, a lump forming in his throat that made it difficult to breathe. The two of them were beautiful and perfect for each other and he hated them for it.

"Mary, for heaven's sake, give the poor boy a moment to find his feet," Medlock's sharp but good-natured voice rang out, and Mary came to an abrupt halt.

"Oh, I am sorry," she said, her eyes wide in a gorgeous show of attrition. "It's just been such a long time and we have so many things we wanted to show you."

_We, we, we._ Colin clenched his jaw and looked across at Dickon. The older boy was no longer smiling, but instead gazed at Colin with a thoughtful expression, as though trying to figure him out. Colin stared back boldly, and Dickon blinked, his eyebrows drawing together. Still Colin stared, unsmiling, wanting Dickon to get the message. If the moor boy thought he was giving in without a fight, he was wrong.

Mary was oblivious to the silent messages passing between the two boys. She was now prattling away to a pained-looking Medlock about all the activities she had planned. Colin coughed politely, and Mary stopped to look at him.

"I think," he said slowly, now pointedly ignoring Dickon after their staring contest. "That I should like to speak with my father first, before anything else. Then I should like to retire for a while, to rest."

Mary looked a little taken aback, but she recovered quickly. "Of course," she smiled. "Well, we'll be in the garden when you want us."

_We, us. _Colin resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Very well," he said abruptly, turning and walking into the manor. He had business to attend to.

* * *

"Did you think there was anything strange about Colin today?" she asked, looking up from the lilies she was inspecting. Dickon too stopped what he was doing and wiped his brow.

"Eh," he said evasively. "I don' rightly know."

"Of course you do," she said with a small smile. "You're the best judge of people I know."

He seemed bemused at her praise. "I don' know abou' tha," he said lightly. "After all, I've no' been anywhere but Yorkshire."

"That doesn't matter," she said with confidence. "A person can travel all over the world and still know less about people than you do. Anyway, what did you think of Colin?"

He shrugged. "He did seem a little…different. I s'pose it's jus' th' sudden change from London t' here. Give him a few days t' get his bearin's an' he'll be good as new." He grinned at her, that infectious smile she couldn't help but return.

"I hope you're right," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think I could bear it if London had changed Colin for the worst. He's as good as my brother, after all."

For a moment Dickon looked troubled. But then the smile was back and he breathed the air in deep. "It'll be alrigh'. Summer's comin', after all."

* * *

**A/N: If you're reading this story then please don't forget to review, they are what keeps me motivated to keep writing! **


End file.
